Beauty and the Beast
by demonicmoon815
Summary: 2 years after they erased Sylar's memories, the Heroes peaceful world is threatening to shatter as a new enemy comes for Claire. Taking the lesser of evils, they bring Sylar back to keep her safe. She hates him, but will time and circumstance change this?
1. Chapter 1

It had been two years, and still _his_ memory haunted her dreams.

Why did his face hover in the darkness of her unconscious mind?

She stirred in her bed, tossing on her side as she gazed into the darkness. She could see silhouettes of her possessions, and she tried to distract her mind with their back stories. How did she get that necklace? Her eyes could see the gleam of a streetlight outside, bouncing off a heart shaped pendent that danced with the breeze.

Her father had given it two her; both of them. Noah had given it to her originally, and Nathan had bought it back for her in Mexico after she pawned it.

A photograph of her, Peter, Nathan and Angela. She tried to remind herself when it was taken. A few months after his death.

She sat up, raking her fingers through locks of blonde hair.

This wasn't working, as much as she tried to distract herself with random thoughts; it always came back to him.

She couldn't fight it anymore, and she leaned back on her outstretched hands behind her, letting her head fall back as she looked to the ceiling, remembering tonight's dream too clearly.

_**It was dark, and somehow she just knew she was backed into a corner. How had she fallen into his trap?**_

_**Claire felt behind her, groping for a knob or anything that she could slip into to hide. She couldn't remember what his abilities were, but was seeing in the dark one of them?**_

_**She tried to shrink into a corner as she heard the echoing of footsteps, he wasn't trying to hide his approach at all. "Claaaiire." His voice sang through the darkness, and she flinched as the sound of it tickled her ears.**_

_**"It's been so long. Are you still holding onto grudges?" There was a pause, the footsteps ceased, and Claire thought she was safe. She didn't realize she had been holding her breath until she let out a low sigh.**_

_**"They must be heavy, carrying them all by yourself. Who are you trying to prove yourself to?" She sucked in, gasping as she felt his steps getting closer. She slid soundlessly to the left, hoping she'd still be able to find a way out.**_

_**"Let me help you. I'll carry some of those burdens." She inhaled sharply, feeling his breath on her ear, and the faintest feathery touch across her cheek.**_

_**"Why?" She whispered, her eyes seeking the darkness for his face, her voice trembling and her hands shaking.**_

_**"You're special, Claire."**_

She laid back, her hair fanning out over her pillow like golden waves, groaning quietly she shifted slightly on her side, hoping she'd sleep peacefully for the rest of the night.

------

Angela's eyes shot open, her nap interrupted by disturbing images. She reached for her phone immediately, dialing Noah Bennett's number. Her hand shakily pressed the buttons in, and for the first time in two years she was scared.

Scared because this meant they would need to bring him out of his slumber. She knew they would have no choice but to try and ask for his help.

"Noah." She hesitated, trying to find strength in her words and steady her voice.

"Claire is in danger. It's time we face the consequences and hope for the best. There is no other way."


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes or any of the characters.**

"What do you mean there is no other way?" Noah said through clenched teeth.

After the phone call, they decided to meet up immediately. Angela expressed that they didn't have much time.

"Who else is going to stop him, Noah?" Angela asked him, sitting back in her chair in her office. She had invited him to take a seat in the chair opposite from her, on the other side of her large desk. How had she forgotten that when it came to Claire, he didn't waste time getting to the details.

"We couldn't defeat Sylar when he was around, being himself. What makes you think we can take on his father?" He opened his mouth to interject, but she held up a hand, continuing. "We don't what abilities he has stolen over his long life time, we don't now how evil he may be. All I had seen was Claire's head chopped off her body, and him picking through her brain. Then he walked off, carrying her head off with him."

Noah bent, spreading his palms on her desk, his brown eyes boring down on her.

"And when we awaken Sylar, what if he doesn't decide to help us? What if turns on us? What in the world makes you think he'll protect her?"

Angela's dark eyes were hooded, and she didn't meet his gaze. There were a lot of things she'd done wrong in her life. A lot of decisions she came to regret. She just hoped she wouldn't regret this one. No, she had to believe this wasn't a mistake.

"We can fix these things, Noah. We've made a lot of mistakes, ruined a lot of lives. You of all people know what it's like to regret something and have no choice but to look back on it and say 'What if?'"

She knew she was digging open an old wound, but if guilt was the only way she could convince him, she'd have to do it. She'd already seen so much of her family suffer, Claire still had a chance.

"You may very well be the reason he turned into a monster. Who knows, maybe if you and Elle had stayed out of it, he would have stayed a boring, watchmaker's son." Her words stabbed into him, and he drew back from the desk. "And then Claire wouldn't---"

"That's enough." He interrupted her, turning away from her, hiding the pain that he felt, the guilt.

"Call Parkman, it's time we right these wrongs."

---

Claire had been going to college for the past year. She didn't live on campus; she couldn't bear to leave her family. A few months after Sylar died, the Bennett's had all gotten news that Lyle had terminal brain cancer. No matter how many times they injected him with Claire's blood, any amount, the cancer grew back within weeks.

After months of trying, Lyle had accepted his fate. The tragedy brought Noah and Sandra close again, and this time Noah decided his job was to be there for his family. He got a real job, this time working as a Staples Assistant Manager. He dedicated himself to his family, but it wouldn't make up for the loss of their son.

Claire couldn't help to think of Sylar's last few words to her.

_**"Don't give me that look. Everyone dies sometimes. Mama Bennett, Papa Petrelli. Mr. Muggles." He grinned, and then tilted his head to the side, "What's your brother's name again? Larry?"**_

_**"Lyle." She said tersely.**_

_**"Lyle." He repeated, smiling. "He's gonna die too."**_

Lyle was still alive, but the doctor's estimated he'd only be around, at best, for a few more months. Her green eyes closed, and she leaned back against the plush chair she was sitting in. She considered dropping out of college, to be able to spend Lyle's last few months with him. Her father wouldn't have it, Nathan wouldn't even hear of it.

It brought her mind back to the present, thinking of Nathan. Angela had called her there to talk about her father. Claire didn't know why, but over the past few years, she'd noticed Noah's uneasiness whenever she mentioned going to see her biological father. Was he getting jealous, she wondered?

"Hey."

She jumped from the couch, whirling around to see Peter facing her. A half crooked smile was on his face as he stared at her. "Peter." She whispered, placing a hand over her heart to steady it.

"You…okay?" He asked, walking around the chair to take a seat next to her. She smiled, letting herself relax. "I've been better." She answered honestly, and then rolled into a discussion about the newest updates about Lyle, the newest drama in school, expressing her worry about Noah and Nathan.

She breathed, and Peter chuckled quietly. "It's been a while, hasn't it?" He asked, looking over to her as he leaned back in a seat that matched hers. A sad smile tugged at her lips as she pressed her back into the chair. "Yeah, you've been busy." He nodded in response. Lately, Peter had been taking as many shifts at the hospital as he could. He reminded her of her father when he was a 'Company Man'.

"We'll have to make it up somehow. Maybe after this, we could go get some coffee. Or a bite to eat. I took the whole day off." A grin widened from the soft smile, and the clicking of heels made them both turn to see Angela, Noah, and Matt come in the room.

Claire could have sworn Angela said this was a family meeting, what was Matt doing here?

As Claire stood up to ask what was going on, the serious looks on their faces gave away the tone of this discussion. This was serious. Her eyes narrowed as she looked back and forth between Noah and Angela. "What's this about?"

"No point beating around the bush, Angela. You want to make this all right; you can be the one to explain to Peter and Claire that we've been lying to them for the past two years." He let his eyes linger on Claire for a moment, before flicking his gaze to Angela.

She glared at him heatedly, pursing her lips together firmly. Turning her gaze on Claire and Peter, she held her shoulders back, ready for the onslaught of questions.

"Nathan will be here shortly, but before he gets here, there's something we've got to tell you. The truth has been buried for too long…" She breathed, the air in the room thickening as the tension built.

"Sylar isn't dead."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes or the characters. Mature for possible scenes in later chapters.**

I want to thank ChamberlinOfMusic for reviewing. It made me want to write more. xD And I want to thank Sarah Rose Serene for the helpful advice. It's a hard habit to break, but I'll try to catch all of the errors. =]

----

"What do you mean he isn't dead," Claire said heatedly, her green eyes turning as hard as emeralds. "I watched his body burn. No, _we_ did." She swept an arm across the room, referring to everyone standing in the room.

Peter stood up from the couch, his eyes narrowing as he took a step towards his mother. "Why do you have to keep all of these secrets?" He asked her, stopping to stand next to Claire, who looked like she was about to pounce on them.

Tilting his head, Peter looked to Matt. "What does he have to do with all of this?" His eyes darted between Noah and Angela. "What else is there that you're not telling us?"

Angela waited, looking to the man with horn rimmed glasses. Noah crossed his arms across his broad chest, looking away. "The floor is yours," he said. She swallowed hard, and then decided to start at the beginning. "Sylar wasn't the first in his family to inherit the hunger. His father, Samson Gray, has the ability. He is much older then Sylar, and has had decades to gather abilities."

"What's your point?" Claire asked, growing impatient. Was this whole family based on a lie? How many more secrets had Angela buried?

"His father has cancer. He is dying." Her eyes went sympathetically to Claire, and the story struck home. Her heart clenched in her chest, and she eased back, away from Angela, Matt, and Noah. "So his father has the hunger? And he has cancer?" She looked to Angela, seeing as Noah was trying to stay out of it. Angela nodded in response. "What else is there?"

"He's coming after you Claire." Her dark eyes connected with the green eyes across the room. "2 years ago when Sylar found his father, he told him that he got his ability from a cheerleader in Texas. Somehow, he has traced that back to you." She paused, looking to Noah and Matt. "We don't have much time until he finds you. You either need to go into hiding—"

"No!" Claire exclaimed, her saddened eyes turning to her father. "I can't do that. Lyle needs—" Noah came towards her, wrapping his arms around her, trying to console her. "Let her finish…" Claire looked up at him, her eyes wide. She closed her mouth, closing her eyes and nodded.

"Or we can have Sylar dispose of him." Peter tried to remain quiet, but he whirled on his mother. "He's _dead_. Do you suggest we bring him back to life? You know somebody with that ability?"

"He's not dead." She said, her eyes as hard as stone. Now, she crossed the room to take a seat. She took a deep breath, her usual hard exterior crumbled before them all, and Claire's heart reached out to her. "2 years ago, when Nathan and Sylar fought, Nathan was killed." Noah's arms tightened around Claire as she started to argue with Angela. "Nathan had gotten us into all of the mess; it was him who needed to get us out. There was another body, the person who Sylar took the shape shifting ability from, his body was the body you witnessed burning."

"Then…" Peter coaxed her forward. Angela's eyes were glassy, she looked up at them to finish her story, but Matt interceded.

"I got inside the real Sylar's mind and convinced him that he was Nathan. His powers have been dormant for the past 2 years, but now we need his help. We need to bring Sylar back, give him his memories back, and ask him for his help."

Claire's head spun and she was grateful for her father's steady arms. The room around her blurred as she fought to absorb all of this information. Sylar is alive. Nathan is dead. And they convinced Sylar he was Nathan in order to fix all of the unsettled problems Nathan had caused.

"What makes you think he's going to help us?" Peter asked, tilting his head to the side. "He was never on our side before."

Noah smirked, looking down at Claire before stepping away from her. "Cause we have a common interest. Sylar left his father to die slowly from his cancer. If he's coming after Claire, then Sylar will make sure that his father dies. He doesn't think Samson deserves eternity. He was going to make sure his death was drawn out, but if his father is going to try to stop his cancer, Sylar will be sure to deliver him death."

"And if he doesn't?" Claire asked quietly, wrapping her arms around herself. "What happens when he does defeat his father? We're back to playing cat and mouse with Sylar?"

"We have to choose the lesser of two evils." Peter answered her, understanding where they were coming from. He didn't like it, but at least he could understand.

"I hope you guys know what you're doing," Peter said, looking directly at his mother.

Just then, Nathan walked into the room. He noticed the looks on everyone's faces. "What's going on?" His eyes found his mother, sitting on the couch by herself. "Ma?" He asked, crossing the room to sit next to her.

"We've been lying to you, and I'm sorry for that." Angela grabbed Nathan's hands, holding them between her own. She was staring deep into his eyes, hoping she'd remember the passion in those eyes for the rest of her life. It would be the last time she'd ever see her son again. "I hope someday you can come to forgive us, all of us, for the things we have done to you." Her eyes went to Noah, and then she held Nathan's gaze.

"I hope that someday you will understand why we made this decision. But now… we all have a chance for redemption. We can move forward, together." She lifted a hand to touch her son's cheek gently, then let go of him. She nodded to Matt, and Nathan looked widely at him. "What're you talking about?"

Angela slipped a hand into her pocket, drawing something out. Matt bent towards Nathan, tilting his head to the side a bit as he got in his head. "No…" Nathan groaned, snapping his eyes shut, pressing his hands to his ears. "This isn't true!" Tears threatened to escape over the brim of Angela's eyes. Peter stood protectively in front of Claire, who had backed against the wall. Noah had drawn out his gun; it was cocked and ready to go.

"You are Sylar." Matt said.

Nathan's face began to shift, morphing into the face that still haunted her dreams. Claire tried to lean past Peter, trying to get a good look. Out of all the people there, she was the one being protected. She couldn't die, and Peter was standing in front of her? She stepped to the side as the transformation finished.

Angela slipped the watch she was holding in her hand into Sylar's hand, but she didn't move away from him on the couch. Memories of his past flooded back to him. He sprung to his feet from the couch, his dark eyes hooded.

"I _am Sylar." _


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who reviewed, and everyone who has put this story on their favorites. I hope you like this chapter. Let me know =P

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes, or any of the characters.

----

He went after the person who seemed like the most threatening. His arm shot out, his fingers spreading as he drew his telekinetic power from within. Matt went flying up against the wall, his arms flailing and his legs kicking furiously. Noah held the gun up, aiming it right at Sylar's head. His hold was choking Matt, and his angry eyes shot to Noah.

"Don't act like you can hurt me, Bennett. I could kill all of you before you even fired your second shot."

"I only need one," He said lowly, his gun train at the space between Sylar's dark eyes.

"You imprisoned me for 2 years, you didn't expect slaughter? You didn't expect a punishment?" He shouted, his hand shaking.

Peter was ready to spring into action; he recently acquired super speed ability. He would get Claire out of here before Sylar could hurt her. Angela sat calmly on the couch, her hands in her lap. Claire stepped out from behind Peter, and Sylar seemed to have notice her for the first time. His hold didn't waver, but with unsteady eyes, he glanced back and forth between Matt and her.

"Claire is in danger, Sylar." Angela's calm voice broke through the room.

"What does this have to do with me?" His voice was rough; he was determined to keep his focus on Matt. He was no longer choking him now, just holding him in place.

"Your father is coming for her. I've seen it, and he won't stop just at taking her power. He'll make sure she stays dead."

Claire glanced back and forth between Angela and Sylar. His composure changed, and he released his hold on Matt, letting him drop to the floor. Matt gasped for breath, his hand rushing to his neck, trying to grope around for any signs of injuries.

Sylar hadn't detected any lies in her words, but just in case, he turned to Angela to ask her a few questions. "So what are you asking me to do?"

"He won't stop, even if we try to put him away. Kill your father, protect Claire." Her voice didn't waver, the strength she lacked earlier had returned. "And what happens when this is all over? What happens when he's dead?"

Angela hesitated, knowing the words she chose next would affect everyone in the room. And not everyone would be happy with it. "It's your life, Sylar. But I hope you make the right decisions. You're a free man."

Noah still had his gun pointed at Sylar. "I'd appreciate if you would put that down. If I wanted to kill you, you'd be dead already." When Noah didn't comply, Sylar flicked his wrist and the gun was ripped from his hands, crashing into the wall. A shuffling of feet, and the scrape of metal against hardwood floor had Sylar turning. It wasn't Noah holding the gun, but Claire. She had it aimed at his chest.

His notorious smirk returned to his face for the first time in 2 years. He lifted a hand, and it made the gun in Claire's hand point to his head instead of his chest. "Here, Claire. If you want to do it, at least try to do it the right way." He noticed her hands weren't shaking, and her eyes didn't hold as much innocence as they once had. He tried to remember what had happened, what had taken away that innocence?

He found himself remembering all of the things Nathan learned in the last couple of years. A bit of guilt pricked his heart and he lowered his hand. An odd feeling came over him. He wasn't sure if it came from the memories he had as Nathan, or if it came from some place else. He wanted to protect her. Was Matt's poison still running through his veins? Or did it go deeper then that?

"I'll do it, He decided, and the room seemed to have lightened. Claire still had her weapon aimed at him. Peter spoke softly to her, "Claire, put the gun down." He reached for her, but she moved stealthily to the side, holding her ground. "I need to speak to Claire alone first," Sylar said, looking directly at Noah.

"Now hold on," Noah said, and Sylar chuckled bitterly. "You want me to protect your daughter, and yet you don't trust me enough to stand outside the door while I have a conversation with her. How is this going to work Noah?" He asked, and Noah opened his mouth to retort.

"Fine," She said, acid seemed to drip from her voice. Her usual soft, green orbs seemed to be surrounded by a layer of electric green. "We'll talk." Her voice was laced with hatred, and she lowered her weapon, but not handing it back to her father. "Claire." Noah warned, but she didn't even spare him a glance. "If he wants to talk, we'll talk."

---

Angela, Matt, Noah, and Peter waited outside the door, trying to listen inside to what was going on. They heard nothing, not even their footsteps. "If Sylar wanted to hurt her, he wouldn't have us wait outside the door. He'd make us witness it." Angela explained, and Peter nodded in agreement. That didn't help Noah settle though.

Sylar noticed she remained as far away from him as she possibly could. When he advanced towards her, she turned, suddenly becoming fascinated by a photograph, or some other treasure in the room. At the moment, she was fixated on a photograph of Nathan, Peter, and Angela. She had been backed up against the window. Her hand still clutched tightly around the handle of the gun that she refused to give up. "Do you even know how to fire that?" He teased, taking a step towards her.

"You wanna find out?" She hissed at him, training her eyes on him now. He took another step, and Claire felt like she was being cornered. Just like in the dream. Her heart pounded fiercely in her ears, but she couldn't move. He was the predator, and she was his prey, entranced by his hungry eyes. Sylar closed the distance between them, reaching for her hand. He slid the gun from her hand, setting it on the table the photo was resting on.

"I don't get a welcome home hug? You've got nothing to say to me after all these years?"

"Go to hell."

She spat, drawing her face away from his. She didn't like the lack of distance between them. She wanted to get as far away from his as possible.

"I guess I deserve that." Sylar shrugged, brushing it off. "Really, I thought after all these years you'd have matured a little. You're still daddy's little girl though."

A sharp slap sounded, but Sylar didn't even move. The impact of her hand only left a dull red mark on his cheek. A lazy grin captured his lips, and he leaned against the table with one hand, leaning towards her as he lifted a hand to brush a few lone strands of hair that escaped from behind her ear. He tucked them back, and Claire inhaled sharply.

"It's okay, I can handle a little hostility. In fact, it'll make this more fun. I hope the fight in you hasn't died along with your innocence." He grinned, but he didn't expect her next move.

She plucked the photo frame up, and drove it's corner into his hand, then placed her hands on his shoulders, bringing him down as she rammed her knee in his crouch. "Then you're about to die of excitement." She whispered, shoving him back and running towards the door. She had had enough. Claire would find another way to stop Samson.

Sylar winced on impact, and then he turned, lifting a finger. A line of blue electricity shot form his finger, it hit her back and snaked it's way up her spine. She felt the tingle of it, but other then that, her tolerance for pain was so high she barely felt it. However, it still affected her. Her back straightened, and then she collapsed to the floor. She waited until the effect wore off, and she turned over on her back.

He was looking down at her, a satisfied smirk on his face. "Oh, kittens grown claws." He made a come hither motion, and she was yanked to her feet, standing dangerously close to him. "I wonder what other surprises you have in store for me." Claire's eyes were hot, and her hands shook as anger flooded her senses. She heard the challenge in his voice, and her pride flared, convinced she could take him.

She wasn't prepared as one of his arms slithered around her slim waist. He drew her closer to him until her lower body was pressed against his. Struggling, she pressed her arms against his chest to push him away. His arm locked, and he wouldn't budge. She lifted her hands to his face, then bit her nails into his skin, dragging them down. 8 thin lines of blood streaked down his face, and he growled, the hand on her back lighting up as he sent a wave of electricity through her again.

The open wounds began to sew themselves together, and he bent his face down next to hers. An invisible force had Claire's arms in the air, as if her wrists were pinned to an invisible wall. "I have a feeling this is the beginning of a new friendship." His grin returned, and he leaned to whisper in her ear. His breath gave her goose bumps, and she shivered involuntarily. "Can you feel it?"


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note: Thank you sooo much to everyone who reviewed and favorited. Reviews make an author happy. ToAislinnNicole1, I hate it when people make Peter whiney and dependent. Peter is one of my favorite characters, along with Claire and you'll be seeing a bit of him in this story, to bring a bit more conflict and drama to the story. Brynndabella, reneemm, Rikku Ree, and lhazel24, thanks so much for the reviews. I hope I can keep you happy with Sylar. And thank you so much to sanmi, darkhuntress21, rebelwilla, and of course, ChamberlinofMusic for reviewing.

Because this is such a short chapter, I'm going to post the next one later on today when I've got more time. Again, thanks everyone. =]

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes or any of the characters.

Footsteps echoed through the room as Noah paced the room. They had settled into Angela's living room, an open space with no doors. When Claire came storming down the stairs, he rushed to her side. Her hair was tangled, a little on the wild side. The after effects of being electrocuted.

When she reached the landing, she smiled through gritted teeth. "Everything's fine," She said swiftly, before her father could rush into questions. In the living room, Angela was staring out the window. Peter had been waiting in the archway, and Matt was on the phone with Janice. Sylar came down the stairs a few moments later, that sly smirk still on his face.

Matt hung up the phone almost immediately. He had stuck around just in case things got messy here. Now he was beginning to wonder if all this had been a mistake. They needed his help, but who was to say Sylar wouldn't pick them off after they killed his father? Matt couldn't see Sylar settling down as Angela hoped for.

"There are other conditions," Sylar announced. He was going to milk these people for all they were worth. "If you want me to protect your precious Claire-bear," He turned to Noah; his eyes showed flecks of amusement, "She'll have to be at my side for most of the day, and night."

"Absolutely not," Noah stated, drawing Claire closer to him, his protective embrace getting tighter. She looked widely up at her father. She turned her gaze back on Sylar, "Are you serious?" She asked, her eyes narrowing. For a moment, they shared a knowing look. It sent a rush of chills down her spine.

He was terrifying, and it thrilled her. And that's what scared her the most. For the past 2 years, she hadn't felt alive. There was no pain, her body tolerated everything. She tried catching herself on fire, it singed a bit, but she regenerated and felt nothing. She snapped bones out of place, fell from multi story windows, thrown herself in front of trains. None of it affected her. And then the electricity she felt from him, it was a tingle. A flicker of pain, and she was a fly drawn to a light. It made her seethe.

It was more then the electricity. It was the captivating fear he had installed in her. The boiling anger she felt when he spoke the blunt truth. The rush of adrenaline when he punished her. The peak of excitement when she almost reached victory. The challenge he presented to her when all other obstacles were easy conquests.

Sylar ignored her, and turned his gaze to Angela. She wasn't as fixated on the window, and was intent on watching Sylar. She was obviously calculating their options. "He's right, Noah. That's the only way to ensure her safety."

Noah reared his head in her direction, the look in his eyes turning into a menacing one. "How is she supposed to be safe with him?" He bellowed, releasing Claire and taking a firm step toward Sylar. The amused chuckle that sounded from Sylar's mouth only egged Noah on.

"Do I need to remind you that you're the one who requested this?" He taunted Noah, circling around him until he was standing behind Claire. She stiffened notably, and Peter stepped forward. "This isn't some game, Sylar," Peter spoke to him quietly, almost sounding threatening.

"You think I think this is a game?" Sylar said, looking shocked and appalled.. "Oh, no. Not at all." He gripped Claire's shoulders, and brought her close to him. "Our precious Claire-bear, who everyone is so intent on protecting, someone who _can't_ die, is in immense danger." He grinned. "And we've got to rely on the big bad wolf to keep her safe."

"This isn't a game at all. But don't blame me if it's not as concerning to me as it is to the rest of you." He shoved Claire away, and she stumbled. She snapped her head back to glare at him, and he ignored her again. She didn't want to speak to him, she didn't believe she needed any protection.

"I'd rather die then be protected by him," The tone in her voice was deadly, and finally Sylar turned his heated gaze on her. He took a step towards her, and Peter was in front of her in a flash. "Be careful what you wish for, Claire. That can still be arranged…" He said lowly, disregarding Peter's presence completely.

"Claire." Her voice broke through their lethal glares. Everyone turned to look at Angela. "Once this is all settled and dealt with, we can all go back to our lives." The thought pained Claire; she'd have to watch all of her loved ones die. What sort of life was that?

"Well then, my place or yours?" His trademark smirk tugged at his long mouth.


	6. Chapter 6

When Lyle had gotten sick, the Bennett's decided it was in his best interest to move to New York for the best treatment. It was then that Claire enrolled into NYU and began taking classes there. Over the past few years, since Sylar's death, Claire had been taking self defense classes. Nathan thought she could learn a few things, so Claire took the classes and learned a couple of techniques. She also had been to shooting ranges, discovering how to handle, maintain and aim with a gun.

Her gunmanship was good. But she was more skilled with knives. They were silent, much easier to conceal then guns. She preferred her blades over the firearm, but she was even happier to know she could defend or attack somebody with either.

The Bennett family moved a few blocks away from Nathan's home, in a townhouse with 3 bedrooms. It was small, but it accommodated all of them well enough. Sometimes, tempers would flare. The blonde just left and went over to Nathan's for a night or two, then went to school in the morning. She shuddered now, knowing it was Sylar all of those times she hugged him, all of the nights he tried to emphasize with her, and all of the days they had a brief lunch together.

Staying at Nathan's house now that Nathan was no longer with them wasn't an option. And staying at Claire's house wasn't something any of them wanted. So they looked to Angela for an answer, and she opted on buying an apartment for Claire. Soon, Nathan would be considered missing, and not long afterwards, he would be declared dead. Even though Claire wasn't his legitimate daughter, Nathan had still left her a lump sum of money in his will, Angela had seen to it.

As Claire and Angela went to look at the apartment, the blonde felt a bit of suspicion towards her grandmother. Why would she personally go with Claire? Why was she buying her an apartment now? When they got to the apartment, Claire was immediately dazzled. It wasn't one of those run down shabby apartments she had imagined, in a bad neighborhood that most people would be afraid to go into.

It was literally around the corner from Nathan's apartment. Why she had expected something run down from Angela, she didn't know. When they got to the apartments, there was a doorman waiting outside. He greeted them, he knew Angela apparently, and asked about her young friend. Angela, doing something completely out of character, pulled Claire in a one armed embrace and introduced her as her granddaughter. The motion shocked Claire, and it was obvious to the doorman, who she found out was named 'Jim', that she was surprised.

He let them in, instructing them to go to the eighth floor. In total, there were about ten floors to the apartment building. The hallways were cleaned, very well maintained. When she got onto the eighth floor, the first thing she noticed was the silence. There were no children running, no couples screaming, and no squeaking floorboards. The carpet was a dark green, to match the walls crème color.

"This floor is mostly vacant. There are a couple of people, but you'll find it's much different then the apartment buildings you've been too." Angela informed her, sensing her surprise again. Angela found the keys, opening the door labeled 804. Claire couldn't hide the astonished look on her face, again. The walls were the same crème color as the hallway, but along the wall at the top was a deep burgundy color border, with little black swivels and swirls.

The room they first stepped into was meant to be the living room. It was spacious, and the windows were wide, allowing a lot of light to get through. The carpet matched the burgundy colored borders, and Claire found herself thinking how convenient it was that the carpet wasn't white. Less blood would be seen on the carpet. She'd have to be careful not to get anything on the walls though. To the left was the open kitchen, the tile was white and black checkered, and the counter tops were black marble.

The refrigerator matched the counter top, and there was a black electric stove next to it. An island was set in the middle of the tiled floor, and there was a deep sink in the counter against the wall. Everything looked so exquisite, Claire was afraid to touch anything. She turned to look at Angela, to ask if she was in the wrong room, even the wrong apartment building. Angela directed her to the right, where a hallway was that lead to the bedrooms.

The first door on the right was the bathroom. The tile and color theme was basically the same as the kitchen, black and white. The first door on the left was a small bedroom. The carpet was a deep blue, and the walls were light beige. If it wasn't destroyed by the time Sylar was finished with it, she could turn it into a spare room or an office. It delighted her knowing she would get to choose.

The door at the end of the hall led to the master bedroom. This room was as big as the living room, with wide open windows and a walk in closet. The carpet was the same deep blue from the previous bedroom, and the light beige masked the walls. She found herself wishing it were the beautiful and bold burgundy color like the living room carpet. Claire turned, smiling at Angela.

She was met with a solemn face though. She raised a brow, asking her in a hush whisper, "What's wrong?" The woman just continued to gaze at her, and then a few moments later she lifted her hands to Claire's face. Placing a hand on either cheek, Angela sighed quietly. "You're the only thing I have left of Nathan, Claire. His other children don't want anything to do with our family unless there is money involved… but you," She paused, seeming to look at Claire for the first time ever. "You're like him. Special." Letting her withered hands drop to her side, she looked away from her granddaughter.

"Please don't blame me if I'm not any good at this. I'm trying to be the grandmother I never was to Nathan's boys. Or the mother I never was to my sons." Her eyes came back to meet her granddaughter's confused gaze. "This isn't something I'm accustomed to. But I'm going to try harder to be there for you, not just as a financial supporter, but emotionally too." She tilted her head to the side, her eyes showing a bit of sympathy.

"You haven't had it easy, Claire. I can't picture it getting any easier on you, especially now. At least you'll know exactly what you're made of, and you'll strive to become stronger. There's a fire in your eyes, and I hope you let it burn. You've got a bit of fight in you; it reminds me of a girl I once knew…" Her thoughts trailed off, and Claire took a step closer to Angela, embracing her gently. "We can both take a stab at this together." She drew back and smiled faintly.

Clearing her throat, Angela got back to business. "Well, I've deposited a bit of money in your account. The apartment came furnished, but it was all a bit too bold. I can't imagine you would have liked it. The money I got for the furniture I put into your account. The apartment is paid for, at least for the next few months. It'll give you time to get on your feet and acquire a stable job."

She swallowed hard, feeling her eyes betray her as they became a bit glassy. Claire looked away, licked her lips, and then looked back at her grandmother. "Thank you… I really don't know what else to say." Angela smiled at her sadly. "Come, we don't want to be late for lunch," she insisted, leading Claire out of her new apartment.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes or any of the characters.**

They had a light lunch, Claire found that her appetite wasn't nearly as big as the anticipation she had was. Angela didn't take offense, she seemed to be picking through her food. Something was obviously on her mind. Not wanting to pry, Claire tried to lure her into a small chat. Maybe Angela would open up later on, maybe now wasn't the time. They had just declared to be more open a half hour ago after all.

"I've decided to cut my classes back to Tuesdays and Thursdays. My professors seem to be understanding, even though they don't really know the whole truth. They've all known about Lyle's cancer for a while, so maybe that's why they're being so lenient," she said softly, fearful that her grandmother's newfound fondness would vanish, and in it's place disappointment would overcome.

"There's something you've got to know, Claire," Angela said, placing her fork beside her plate neatly. "I'm not certain how to come out and say this, so I suppose I should put it bluntly." Stalling, she grabbed her napkin, placing it carefully on her lap. She tugged at the corners until she was positive it was as precise as possible.

"I've done a lot of things wrong, I've kept a lot of secrets. I'm…" she paused, then cleared her throat. "I'm trying to clear my slate, trying to start things over. Or at least give you guys the chance to live knowing the truth." Angela's steely gaze found Claire's uncertain look. Tilting her head to the side, she laid her fork on her plate. "Yeah?" She asked, already feeling the barriers draw around her. How would she change her world now?

"Claude Rains came to us when Nathan was still young. Claude was like me and you, he had an ability. He could become invisible. His ability was useful to him, he wasn't much of a people person. He avoided crowds, and people at all costs. He was a man however, and men will be men. He had an affair with a woman, she died during child birth."

Angela hesitated, looking down in her lap to fix an invisible crease in her napkin on her lap. Her granddaughter lifted a slender, light brow. Where was this story going? She held her breath, waiting for her grandmother to continue. After a minute or so in silence, Claire edged her on. "And?"

"He tried to raise his child for a few months, but he couldn't. He wouldn't change his lifestyle. He came to Arthur, pronouncing his problem. I had decided long ago that one child was enough for me. I didn't want to go through that again. Adopting wasn't out of the question though."

Now Claire could see where this was going. No. She thought.

"Arthur decided we would take the child, raise him as our own."

"No," she whispered softly, almost inaudibly.

"He only had one request. The baby's mother name was Petra."

"No."

"He wanted the baby's name to be Peter."

"No!"

"So we took baby Peter under our care and raised him as our own."

"You can't be serious! How?" Claire asked, gripping the edge of their table tightly. "How could you lie to him about his birth right?" Tears threatened to escape from her eyes. Hot, angry tears. She remembered the feeling that haunted her a few years ago when she found out she was adopted. Betrayal. Angst. Uncertain. How could she ever figure out who she was now? Why did her birth parents give her up? Did she make them sick?

Now Peter would have to go through those same feelings? And finding out so late in his life?

"He was always mine, Claire," she said tersely, her gaze hardening. "The moment I seen him, the second I held him, I knew. I knew it was meant to be." Angela lifted her glass, a soft red wine. "Arthur took a bit longer adjusting, and he never grew as fond of Peter as I did. And then when Peter started coming into his ability, I understood that he was where he belonged."

Claire swallowed hard, her appetite fled completely. Her throat was dry, she didn't seek the water from her glass though. First, she found her father was dead. Then, the serial killer who haunted her dreams was imposing as her father. Unknowingly. He'd also be guarding her, while tormenting her silently. And now, she didn't even have an Uncle. Peter wasn't her blood, Peter wasn't her family. Would he even be her friend after finding out the truth? He wouldn't be tied to her in any way. There was only one thing she knew for certain he'd always be to her. He'd always be her hero.

"Are you going to tell him? Or am I that has to be burdened with that?" Claire asked lowly, her throat a bit scratchy.

"I'll tell my son… But I would appreciate it if you were there with him when I did it. He could use the support." Claire nodded in response, pushing away from the table. "I think I'll go now. You've surprised me enough for one day."

---

"Claude Rains?" Peter asked incredulously, forgetting Claire's presence for a moment. His stare on his mother froze into an icy glare. Angela didn't falter, she pulled her shoulders back and met her son with a steady gaze. "Yes, he is your birth father."

She had already explained to him what happened to his birth mother, he met Claude and knew he was social inept. Angela told him how Claude came to her and Arthur, and that he moment she held him, she knew he was meant to be with them.

This explained a few things to Peter, like why Arthur never seemed too fond of him. It explained the way Claude acted around him sometimes. It was no wonder Arthur didn't accept him. "Did Nathan know?" He asked, his grip was tight on the arm of the chair he was sitting in. Claire reached over to touch him, to comfort him. He pulled away from her, his glower intent on his mother.

"Nathan wasn't aware at all," she said, removing her eyes from Claire to see the hurt look on her face. Peter glanced over at Claire, but before he looked over at her, the hurt expression was gone. Peter looked puzzled for a moment, but turned his gaze back on his mother. Or Angela. How could he consider her his mother?

There wasn't anything else she could say to him, she could see by the look in his dark eyes that she wasn't wanted here. Angela stood up, brushing her slacks off. "I'll let myself out…" she spoke softly, her voice hardly audible. With a glance between Angela and Peter, Claire stood up and walked her grandmother to the door. They were in Peter's apartment.

It was dimly lit, and the kind of apartment that Claire imagined she would have gotten if not for Angela and Nathan. It was all mostly one room, the bathroom had it's own room, and that was it. His bedroom was on the other side of the room, a shoji screen acting as a wall and dividing the small area. She'd seen one of them in those Chinese films that came on in black and white when she was younger. . A tiny kitchen and a couch made up the rest of the apartment.

"Peter…"

"I don't want to talk about it." His voice was firm, the edge in it made her cringe back. He hadn't moved from his spot on the couch. His hands had suddenly become remarkable to him, because Claire noticed he was gawking at them. What was he looking at?

Moving closer, she slid onto the couch next to him. The furniture wasn't very comfortable, but it accommodate the both of them. It even had enough space for Peter to move over, putting a bit of distance between the two of them.

She tried not to feel rejected. Or betrayed. This couldn't be about her right now, she had to focus on what he was feeling. She only wanted to be there for him, like Zack was there for her when she found out. "We've got to talk about it, you can't just pack this away somewhere and let it collect dust. When you open it later, it'll hurt so much more."

"Don't act like you know---" He snapped, but he was cut short by the outrageous look on her face when she whirled her head to look at him.

"It happened to me. Flipped my world upside down, and when gravity let it go, I had to put everything back. Alone. I had to fix it, by myself. I was left to discover who I am all over again."

"Claire," He started, immediately regretting what he had said. If anybody knew, she did.

"You know what I realized though? By the end of the day, I'm still Claire Bennett. Nathan and Meredith created me, but my experiences with my family, being a Bennett, that is what made me." Sighing softly, she closed her eyes for a moment, opening them to gaze at him. "That probably made no sense… I just contradicted myself."

Reaching over, he placed his hand over hers gently. That same feeling was there, the same ones she always got when she was close to him. Reassurance, comfort, and a place she felt safe. His dark eyes gazed down at her, but then he seemed to have slipped away. "I understand. But… I just can't right now. I need to sort it out myself. When I need to talk, I know where to go."

Claire pulled her hand out from under his, nodding and smiling in his direction sadly. "Okay… Alright, I can accept that. Please, don't forget that I'm here for you. You're still my hero, and you'll always be a part of my family." Touching the place over her heart to express just how much he meant to her. "You'll always be Peter Petrelli to me. Where you come from doesn't change that."

Standing up, she walked to the door. Her hand lingered on the cool, brass knob for a moment before she swung it open. She stepped out and closed it behind her. Waiting a moment by the door, facing it and staring at it expectantly, Claire wondered if he had changed his mind in those few seconds.

Finally, she turned away. Greeting her across the other side of the hall, with a sly smirk on his long lips, Sylar pushed himself off the wall and stood next to her, invading what she called her 'personal space'.

"Have you been avoiding me?" Cocking his head to the side, his grin grew as her face dropped.

"Claire, you can't hide forever. We're going to be living together now. We'll be roommates." He exaggerated his last word, and Claire started walking away. She figured the best way to make it through this was to ignore him. Try to act like he was that annoying roommate you had to deal with, and avoid at all costs.

Taking long strides, he caught up with her easily. They were like yin and yang walking next to each other. She was the light, with her long waves of blonde hair cascading down her back. She had on a pair of white denim jeans and a soft yellow camisole. She was short and petite, her eyes were gentle and bright.

In contrast to her, his hair was dark. His legs were lengthy, and his shoulders were wide. He was in dark jeans and a black t shirt. He seemed to loom over people, and his eyes were dark and compelling. They appeared to be exact opposites.

"Hmm… I wonder what your friends will think." A soft chuckle followed it, and it loitered her mind the entire walk home.

**Author's Note: Peter not being related will make the plot thicken later. =] I've got plans for him 8D But no worries, this is purely a Sylaire fic, just adding a dash of drama. **

**Thank you to the people who reviewed. =3 **


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: Some people are worried this is gonna turn into a paire or pylaire. It isn't, it's just add to add more depth to peter's character, and more conflict later on in the story. I've already written up to 12 more chapters for this (I've got to write ahead in case I get some writer's block or hit a bump), and I promise there is no paire. Just strictly showing the deep understanding, loyalty, and protective bond that claire and peter share. You don't have to be in love with someone to care deeply about them =P and that's what I'm aiming to express for them in this story. Sorry if it seems I'm rambling, I just don't want to discourage some of you who are having doubts. Anyways, I think you guys will like this chapter. I love reviews, and thank you to everyone who has reviewed and stuck with it thus far. Enjoy =]**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes or any of the characters**

"It's kind of empty. You'd think Angela would spring to get you some furniture." His voice was low, and the vast, vacant room allowed it to bounce off the walls and echo throughout the room. The only thing she had in the living room right now was a bean bag she'd gotten from her room back in the Bennett house.

Sylar walked over, and nudged the blue bean bag with his foot. "Really, Claire? I haven't seen one of these since the 90's." She rolled her eyes in answer and walked through the hallway. She opened up the spare bedroom door, and pointed in. "I'm not your keeper, or your mother. I'm not gonna take care of you. But no one should have to sleep on the floor…" Her voice trailed off, and Sylar wandered into the room.

In the middle of the floor was a simple mattress, there was no box spring underneath of it, or a sheet on top of it. There was a gray comforter folded up neatly on the edge of the mattress. Claire slipped out of the doorway and across the short hall to the opposite wall where the bathroom door was. His silence was bugging her, he didn't have any smart remarks to say?

"This is the bathroom. I'll get some necessities today or tomorrow." Her voice was soft, but dull. Like she had no fight in her today. It unnerved Sylar. He was used to the unruly, smart ass Claire. The one who's fight never left her eyes. Today though, it seemed she wasn't as bull-headed as she normally was. Ever since she left Peter's…

His dark eyes trailed up to meet her face, but her eyes were elsewhere, staring in deep thought as she looked at the wall. Something had happened to her while she was with Peter, it took the fight right out of her. It wouldn't be any fun if she was complacent like this. Letting his eyes travel to the closed door at the end of the hall, he invited himself into her room. If she wouldn't fight like it naturally came to her, he'd just have to bait her.

The sound of her door slamming against the wall made Claire jump out of her daze, and she grudgingly followed him into her room. Her full size bed was set up in the center of the room, and like the rest of the house, it was bare. He turned, a slender brow lifting in her direction. "I'll take this room," he said haughtily. Claire crossed her arms across her chest.

"No," she said simply, turning around to walk away.

Did she really think she could just walk away from this? From him?

It agitated him more then if she would have bitched at him, or if she would have attack him.

Cussing under his breath, he followed her out of the room. "I'm going to be protecting your sorry ass. Since I'll be doing all the heavy lifting, I'll be getting more luxuries."

"I'm really not in the mood to deal with you today, Sylar." Her voice was quiet as she went to the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water. She wasn't being provoked at all, how could he reel her in if she wouldn't even snag it?

"Why?" He threw at her, leaning across the counter top to stare at her.

"Because," she tossed back, taking a swig of cool water.

"What happened at Peter's?"

"Nothing. I don't know what you're talking about." She turned her back on him, her hair tossing behind her. The lie tingled through his body, and he frowned in her direction. She had just placed the water into the fridge, and was shutting the door when she felt her body being jerked backwards. A short gasp as she took in the shock, and then her back slammed into the wall of her living room.

"Don't ignore me." His voice was quiet and menacing. "I'm not stupid." He had his arm in the air, his hand outstretched as if he was choking someone.

Gasping for breath, Claire's arms flailed as she tried to pry away the invisible hands from her throat. Legs kicked, and her upper body jerked upwards as she tried to yank herself off the wall. "N-nothing! Nothing h-happened!" She choked at him, her eyes widening as her lungs threatened to pinch shut. Her head was beginning to tingle, and it was a soothing reminder that she _could _feel.

Sylar's fingers clenched as the invisible hold around her neck tightened.

"Claire," he warned, his eyes becoming hooded as he tilted his head in wonder, growing aggravated again. Now she was being stubborn again, but he would win. He always won.

In her peripherals, the corners began to fade. If he held on any longer, she'd black out. Realizing this, he loosened his grip. It seemed she needed a bit more motivation. Lifting his other arm, he pointed a finger directly at her chest. Her chest rose as she inhaled deeply, until her lungs were satisfied with the little oxygen he was allowing her.

A sharp pain erupted through her chest as a line of blood began to leak through her yellow shirt. Clenching her jaw, she refused to scream. It was some sort of sick high for him, and she wouldn't let him reach it, not off of her. Another screeching sting as a parallel line traced under the first line of blood.

She wheezed as a third was being made, this time he flicked his wrist as he finished the third. Splatters of blood went across her wall, and she caught it from the corner of her eyes. "Stop!" Screaming through the ominous silence, he paused just as a dot of blood seeped out from below the last line.

"It's Peter. He's…." She jerked, kicking her legs as she fought to reach the ground. He had her lifted, glued to the top of the wall. She was closer to reaching the ceiling then she was to reaching her carpet. "Let me down, I'll tell you." She said through clenched teeth. With a devious smirk, he released her. She fell to the floor, landed on her feet. Losing balance, she slipped and fell over.

Glancing up, she noticed the crimson spots on the wall. Frowning, she realized she should have gotten a darker color wall too.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to put up another chapter. It's been a hectic month. I just moved into a new place, and the packing and unpacking process was really time consuming. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, it's very much appreciated. And they're helpful reminders when my head is elsewhere. xD Because this chapter is a bit… short, I'll try to post 10 in a few days. =] Enjoy.**

After Claire had told him what had happened with Peter, and who Peter really was, Sylar was in deep thought. He could see this was going to be a problem in the future. Even though the two of them were too naïve to do anything remotely entertaining, he had a feeling Peter would be around a lot more often.

Claire was standing on the tip of her toes, scrubbing a sponge against the wall. Her fingers were white as she dug the material into the crimson blood. He watched her, his form surrounded by the blue bean bag. What other choice did he have? He wasn't going to sit on the floor. As he watched her, he wondered why she bothered. He could already see the walls caked with blood by the end of this, hers more then his.

When she was finished, sweat glistened across her forehead. She pulled back, and looked up. It was hardly visible, but she could faintly see very soft pink droplets on the wall. She'd have to invest in some paint. Her gaze traveled down her slender tummy, seeing the lines of red where her blood had seeped through her shirt. "Ugh," she groaned.

"Now I'm going to throw this one away. It's ruined." Turning to him, her eyes went as hard as stone. "You owe me a shirt."

"You could have mine..." The corners of his lips lifted as he grinned in her direction.

Her eyes rolled to the ceiling and she turned away, huffing quietly. "Can't you refrain yourself, just once?" She walked into her room, throwing on a simple green t shirt from the walk in closet. She'd only brought over a few outfits, she'd have to make them last until she could get all of her things over here. Hiro would really come in handy about now.

"Your living room is empty. Your bathroom is a pathetic excuse for a facility. My room is bare, your room isn't as pink as I imagine you want it to be." He stood from the bean bag and walked into the kitchen. "No surprise," he said as he opened the fridge. "And the only thing you've got in here is water."

"Isn't this the part where you turn around with a smile on your face and scream 'Shopping!!?" Claire tilted her head as she tossed the remark at him.

He narrowed his eyes in her direction. "I'm not gay, Claire."

This made her laugh, and she grabbed her purse off the counter. "Right."

"You want proof?"

"No, thanks. I didn't mean to insult your _man_hood." Another purr of laughter as she walked towards the door.

Sylar's lips pursed together, he shoved his hands into the deep pockets of his jeans. He liked her better when she was giving him the silent treatment. Now what had he unleashed?

--

"I don't want to buy glassware. I'll stick with paper plates." Claire argued back with him, and he continued to ignore her. For the past half hour, they'd been stuck in the same aisle, arguing about why they should or shouldn't get plates, cups, and bowls.

"Claire, it's the sensible thing to do. You've just moved into your first apartment, you can't expect Mommy and Daddy to give you their spares of everything." He was looking down at the two boxes in his hand. One was a bigger set, but a bit more plain then the elegant looking one in his other hand. "This should be something you need to experience."

"With you?" Claire flung the question at him, prying the first set of dishes out of his hands and setting it down. "I think not. I told you, I don't want the hassle of dishes when I've got to worry about the serial killer bringing home bodies and getting blood on my carpet. Speaking of which, I wonder if they've got carpet cleaners here. Steam cleaners?" She wondered aloud, and he flicked an angry look at her.

"You're just worried you're gonna buy this, and somehow we'll manage to break it," he mumbled, and she ignored him, rolling the cart down the rest of the aisle. "This conversation is over," she stated, but a second later the soft squeak of the wheels on the cart stopped, and Claire was rendered motionless in the aisle.

"God," she complained. Using his telekinesis, he had made her pause as he plucked the other set of dishes up to finish inquiring about them. "You're worse then a child in a store, you don't stop until you get your way." Unknown to her, she received a knowing smirk as Sylar finally decided and placed the dishes in the cart. When she could see his face again, the smirk was gone and they were off to bicker about something else.


	10. Chapter 10

Bags of groceries crowded the black and white checked floor of her kitchen. Claire was crouched down, sorting through the food. Using his special way, he managed to 'convince' her to get a shit load of junk she didn't want. A mess load of food that she wouldn't eat. Looking down at the jars of pickles, she scrunched her nose up with distaste. Did he really need 4 jars of pickles?

"I'll go shopping alone next time," she stated, pushing the jars to the back of the fridge. Setting a few other things to the side, ketchup, mustard, hot sauce and other condiments, she stood up to look over at him. He wasn't even helping! Claire seen him with the toiletries in his hand a few moments ago, and now he was just standing at the edge of the kitchen watching her.

A soft smirk hinted at his lips as he leaned over the counter to stare at her. "How domestic," he commented, and her green hues narrowed dangerously.

Claire pulled the glass plates out of the box, and set them aside as she began to pull out the bowls. Did she really think that he could be civil? Could she really be civil towards him? Shaking her head to herself, she frowned at the glass plates. They weren't even the ones she would have chosen. "Put some of this stuff away, I didn't even want half of it, and I'm stuck doing all the work." Her voice was low, and it irritated him.

Suddenly, she was reminded _why_ she had gotten the plates. Claire set the bowls down, and pointed across the counter at him. "Also, do **not** do your freaky puppet shit on me in public. Or _ever_ again. Or I'll---"

"What, Claire? What are you going to do?"

Her mouth snapped shut, and she dropped her hand. Sylar leaned a bit closer, and he continued, "I don't take orders. I give them. And like it or not, I've got the upper hand. I'll always have the upper hand. You're just going to have to find a way to live with that."

He turned away from her to stare into the empty living room. It was still bare, but at least she had picked out some end tables and a coffee table.

Snatching up a glass plate from the table, she chucked it across the room. It crashed into the back of his head, and then it shattered into tiny pieces as it bounced off onto the floor. She heard a tiny crack, and seen a flash of crimson before she dropped to the floor, hiding behind the counter.

"Claire!" He barked, spinning around. The room appeared empty. He knew she wasn't invisible, so she was hiding behind the island counter. Sylar walked around to the edge, and Claire looked around for a weapon, _anything_. She grabbed the first thing that looked like would hurt if it connected with his head, and she leapt into the air to slam it down onto his forehead.

Surprised, the glass jar of hot sauce smashed into the side of his head, the red sauce pouring out and covering his eyes. He howled as the volcano sauce erupted over his eyes. She hadn't meant it, but she blinded him with the hot sauce. He scratched at his eyes, trying to rub the sauce out. It only burned more. His eyes were blazing and he squeezed them shut as he searched for the sink. He heard her footsteps across the broken glass, and he lifted a hand in the direction.

A second later, she was lifted blindly into the air. Her body was shook wildly as he slammed her against the wall, then brought her towards him to send her crashing into the counter. Her body hit the corner, and the familiar sensation of pain bit into her back as she bled on contact. Her eyes squeezed shut as he sent her into the counter again. After he washed his eyes out, he glared at her, furious.

"I guess you'll just have to learn the hard way."

A flash of fear shone in her eyes before she was rammed on top of the island, sending food and dishes crashing to the floor. He didn't care, his eyes were glued fiercely on her. When she was sprawled out on top of the counter, like a patient for a doctor to examine, he came to hover over her. Her body was pinned by his unseen force. She couldn't even struggle, she had no control except over her eyes and mouth.

He lifted a hand, and from the center of his palm the gift from Elle exploded from his hand and shot through her body. It shook her body, and she could taste the blood in her mouth from biting her tongue. She couldn't scream. She wouldn't. Her fists wouldn't tighten, but her head screamed in pain as he cut across it.

For a few moments, this is how it happened. Quietly, he would cut her up, bleeding until the wound was just about to heal. Then, just as it was sealing shut, he'd send a jolt of electricity through her blood, literally. A couple of times, a soft squeal would escape her lips, but her mouth would fasten shut as soon as it happened, and he'd spend another minute trying to get another out of her.

It wasn't enough though.

Not many moments later, he brought his face inches away from hers. "You will _never_ do that again, do you understand?"

Her eyes were hot, molten with anger. "I hate you. And I _will_ kill you," she hissed at him, her voice laced with venom.

His eyes shifted for a moment, and then he drew back. He put two fingers up, like he was making a pair of scissors, and began opening and closing them. Her bloodied, green shirt was split up the middle, and it parted to reveal her flat stomach and her dark tan bra. Her eyes widened with shock, and she frantically tried to regain control over her body. The only thing she could do was jerk her head from side to side, it made her feel as if her brain was loosely wobbling around, and made her ache even more.

"No!" Her scream broke through the disturbing silence.

At that moment, he hadn't decided whether he wanted to tear the bra up the middle, or if he'd save her from that embarrassment. When her livid eyes linked with his, it made his decision. She still wasn't feeling ashamed? He'd give her something to be ashamed about. A moment later, her bra fell to the side and she was revealed beneath him.

Claire swallowed hard, and her eyes clasped shut. This wasn't happening. He wasn't doing this. This was another nightmare. For Pete's sake, he was still _dead_. He had to be. She wasn't about to be raped by this monster, by this _beast_. What was worse was that, not only was she mortified, but a tiny part of her was _thrilled. _What the hell was that? Why?

He stared down at her, carefully absorbing her completely. As if she were a gourmet meal he was about to devour, or an exquisite piece of art work he was contemplating on buying. He began to cut through her tender skin, still a soft pink from the healing and the blood. A few seconds later, her lower abdomen was pooling with blood.

Gently, he traced the tip of his fingers up between the valley of her milky breasts, forbidding himself to touch. Then his fingers trailed down her stomach, to the hem of her jeans.

Hot, angry tears spilled over the brim of her eyes. "No," she whispered, her voice agonizingly sad and pitiful.

Infuriated, Sylar turned his eyes on her. It was as if he read her mind. "I won't take you like this, Claire. You'll have to beg first." The thought made her stomach churn, and she turned her face away from him. Against her will, her head turned until her eyes met his.

"And you will be begging for me before this is all over with," he promised, then brought his face until he was centimeters away from hers. It was almost intimate, considering the distance they usually kept between each other. "Your innocence died with me a long time ago, and as much as you'd hate to admit it…" His voice trailed off as he brought his hand up to her face, his hands stroking her cheek like a soft feather.

"Our fates are intertwined. I will always be the constant in your life; after Lyle dies, after both of your fathers die, and both of your mothers. I will always be the one at the end of that dark, dark tunnel. The sooner you realize that, the better for you." He drew back, still brushing her cheek carefully. Then he lifted a finger to touch her full, pouty bottom lip.

"You're mine, Claire Bennett."


	11. Chapter 11

She hated him. The feelings he inspired in her were nothing but darkness. She loathed him, despised him. Everything he was disgusted her. It had been 2 days since the incident, and every night she dreamt of him. Of him touching her, or of her killing him. What were those dreams supposed to mean? She didn't understand any of it, but if there was one thing she did know...

Claire Bennett hated Sylar.

That would never change.

She'd been staying out of the house as much as she could since that night. Finding any excuse to leave, and not come back until the late hours of the night, just before the peak of dawn. Then she'd sleep all morning, and by noon she'd be up and gone. Today her living room furniture would arrive. Finally, after two days of searching, she had found the perfect living room set.

A familiar ring sang through the air, and Claire reached for her phone. It was the delivery men confirming their drop off time. Claire slid the phone shut, and rested against the countertop. She tried to block out images of what had happen in here a few days ago, she let her thoughts wander elsewhere. It was a bright day outside, the kind of day children enjoyed running around in. Claire opened the windows, letting a breeze glide in to lift some of the tension from the air.

Today she was adorned in tight black jeans and a cranberry colored top that hung off her shoulders and dipped low to expose her fleshy cleavage. Her hair was carefully waved, an hour curling it in the bathroom had given it the lift she wanted. She looked more sophisticated today, and she tried for great measures to appear that way. When she filled out the paper work for the furniture, they sales lady had given her a look that clearly read 'Are you even legal yet?'.

There was a knock at the door, and Claire left the window to open the door. To her surprise, Peter was waiting patiently outside. He had on a dark wind breaker, a light jacket that would keep the cool breeze from tormenting his skin too much, and a pair of dark jeans. His hair had grown unruly, and she could see the shadow of hair beginning to grow from where he hadn't shaved. Claire's heart ached, and she realized this was just the distraction she needed. Peter could save her from her dark thoughts, he always did.

"Hey." He smiled slightly, but it didn't quite reach his eyes the way it used too. He looked exhausted, the color was drained from his face and under his eyes drooped, just a bit.

"Hey, come in." Claire moved to the side, and Peter stepped through.

Taking a moment to look around, he turned back to look back at Claire as she shut the door. "Wow. Fancy, but empty. Sort of like mine." He aimed for a joke, but it only made him seem more lonely. And it made her feel like she was beginning to be a loner too. What had happened to them? Claire shrugged, walking over to the counter. She lifted herself up to sit on the cool surface, and patted the spot next to her. Peter hesitated, but he was sitting beside her a few seconds later.

"I've got a couch and loveseat coming in a bit. You're right on time, you'll be the first to see my living room partially finished."

"Partially?" He asked, his eyes wandering to the empty floor in the living area.

"Just cause you're satisfied with a couch, doesn't mean the rest of the world is. Some people decorate when they move into their own space." She tossed that at him, then slyly gave him a teasing smirk.

He gave a short laugh, it sounded somewhere between a cough and a laugh, like he hadn't done it in days. "I didn't think you were that serious about this place, especially since _he's_ around." He emphasized when he spoke about Sylar, and Claire let her eyes travel up to meet his darkened ones.

"I can't stay in one place mad forever and shaking my fist at what fate's given me. I've got to keep moving."

"You don't think the past is gonna catch up to you someday, Claire?"

She wasn't ready for that one. Letting her hands drop in her lap, she stared at the tile. A few days before, it was layered with her blood. She could clean it up, get rid of all traces of it, but would it ever really be gone? Could she ever really get rid of it? Looking back up at Peter, she shrugged lightly.

"I don't know. But at least now, at this very moment, I'm not letting it haunt me. I'm taking it a day at a time."

His brows rose with surprise, and he turned away so she wouldn't see the shock register on his face. "Well, now there's something. You're giving me a life lesson." Peter smiled, thinking of how much she's grown up. She wasn't the same Claire Bennett she was 2 years ago, but somehow, it still felt the same. No matter what happened, it always felt the same with her. He always felt the need to protect her, he always wanted to be there for her.

So where was he now?

"I'm sorry..." He whispered, his voice barely audible. Claire had hardly caught it, but she turned to him, her green eyes full of question. "Peter... What..." She started, but she didn't finish. The look in his eyes made her pause, it struck the cord of her heart hard. He looked so sad, so miserable. Was he ashamed?

"I should be the one here, protecting you from that monster." Which monster, she wondered.

"But instead, you've got another beast protecting you from a greater monster. And who's to say he won't be more of a problem then Samson is?" Peter asked, still avoiding her knowing eyes. She could so easily read him it seemed. "I can't protect you like I could before."

"Peter, you don't need to always be the one saving me. Sometimes, I can save myself." She slid off the counter to stand in front of him, to capture his gaze so he couldn't look away from her. "Who knows, maybe I can even help you. I want to.. You know that, right?" She asked, gazing up at him. "It's not healthy for you to work all those hours. You don't look like you get an ounce of sleep..." Mumbling softly, she pressed her fingers softly against his cheek to turn his face towards her.

"You want to talk about it?"

Her voice was hardly a whisper, but he shook his head in answer. "No, not now. Not today." Claire bit her lip, resigning herself from pushing him further. Nodding, she took a step back. "Okay." Her eyes drifted away, to the window that carried a gentle reminder that it was still daylight. "You wanna go out to get something to eat later? Oh, hey." She smiled, the worry in her face seeming to wash away. "There's a carnival in town next week, why don't we go?"

The thought of being alone with Claire scared him for a moment. She'd question him more, and he couldn't give her the answers just yet. He wasn't even sure what the answers were, but now that he had a different life, he was seeing Claire in a different way. The thought frightened him, he wanted her to be his niece. He wanted to protect her. Now that his title had changed, did his feelings towards her change? Or were they always there, hibernating beneath the surface. It frightened him to think that maybe she wasn't safe from him, that maybe she needed to he protected from _him._

"I can get some of my friends to go, and maybe Lyle will go. He's been cooped up too much too," she added as an after thought, and his fear vanished for the time being. Nodding, he agreed finally. "Yeah, sounds good." A knock reverberated through the apartment, and the sound of it brought Peter and Claire back to the real world. She went for the door, this time it was the delivery men.


	12. Chapter 12

After her furniture arrived, Claire escaped the apartment with Peter. They had went to dinner, and when Peter dropped her off at home afterwards, Claire slipped away. She refused to linger around the house, waiting for him to mock her again. She was just walking aimlessly, unaware of her surroundings. She thought about dinner, and how awkward it was now that Peter wasn't her uncle. Did that change anything? He seemed wary of her, like she'd done something wrong.

A few hours later, and hundreds of thoughts later, she wandered back home. Her feet led her to the front door, and she heard voices inside. They were muffled, but she recognized one as Sylar's, and the other was softer, more carefree. Hesitating, her hand stayed on the doorknob as she tried to eavesdrop on what was being said.

The last thing she wanted to do was walk in on Sylar bringing a chick home, and possibly doing the deed on her new furniture.

With that thought, anger suddenly flooded through her. To hell with him! _That's my furniture, and this is my house! He can't run me out of here!_

Claire flung the door open, but the anger washed away from her face immediately. Her friend, Laura, was sitting on the couch. She was chatting with Sylar animatedly about something. When Claire stepped into the living room, closing the door shut behind her, their eyes turned to her.

"Claire," Sylar said, his voice cheerful and his eyes held laughter in them. He was playing the charitable host in her absence. The thought of him being able to hold his character so well sent shivers down her spine.

"You're finally home. I told you she'd be back soon." He smiled, looking over at Laura.

Laura had light cappuccino colored skin and dark chocolate eyes that shone with challenge. She was never taken by surprise, and her attitude was like a fire; it blazed so brightly that it drew others to her. She was a friend from college, one of the few friends she did have. She hadn't seen her in the past few weeks.

"Hey girl," Laura greeted her, standing up from the couch that she and Sylar were sitting on. "Man, I don't hear from you for a few weeks and you're life's been flopped upside down. You've got your own crib, a hot dude, and you're dad's gone." She stepped closer, her height towering over Claire.

"Whats up with that?" She asked, placing a hand on her hip, but a quirky smile tugged at her lips. Laura was strong and independent, and it intimidated most people. When Claire stood her ground the first week of school, and showed Laura just how tough she was, Laura showed her who she really was. Even though she could be classified as a bitch, Laura was loyal and very caring. Even if she didn't like to show it.

"Sorry I haven't called. Things have been hectic, I've got so many new things going on," she said, her eyes trailing from her friend's face to Sylar's. What had he told her?

"Obviously," Laura said, turning her face to look over at Sylar. "I bet he's been keeping you busy."

Claire's eyes widened, and she took a step back. "W-what? No!" Claire exclaimed loudly, looking over at Sylar confused. He stood up, shrugging lightly. "I didn't say that. She just assumed."

"That's why there are two rooms here, Laura. He's just… a family friend who needed a place to crash for a while."

Laura lifted a dark, trimmed brow and gazed at Claire. Her embarrassment showed on her cheeks, but she didn't say anything else about it. Sylar walked past the girls, heading to his room. "I'll see you around, Laura." He waved once, and slipped into his room.

"Why ain't you hitting that? He's a stud." Laura whistled low once and then turned to laugh at Claire's 'ew' expression.

"Uh, no," she said simply, and then tried to change the subject. However, Laura beat her to it.

"Anyways, the girls are going out to the club this weekend. You want to go?" Crossing her arms over her large chest, she waited patiently for Claire's answer. Claire moved over to the couch, taking a seat. She laid her head back, trying to think about what was going on. Should she go out with her friends and have fun? She already had so many things to worry about…And then the answer was clear. She _needed_ this. She needed to get out.

"Yeah, sure."

"Great. I invited your boy toy, too." She grinned down at Claire, and Claire shot up from her seat. "Why?" She asked in a low hush, leaning towards Laura. "I really don't want him to come. Shouldn't this be… like a girls night out or something?"

"Oh, please. Bring another guy if you want. I don't care. But if you're not gonna snag him up, I will." Winking once, she went to the door. "Only if that's alright with you…?" Laura tossed it out there as a question, and Claire sighed. "That's fine with me…"

**----**

How would she be able to enjoy herself tonight knowing that Sylar was hovering all around her? She should have said no, she should have told Laura that she had other plans. Instead, she felt like she was babysitting a monster. Everything Sylar did, Claire watched him intently, as if he were going to turn this club into a blood bath.

"I'm not going to go on a rampage and starting massacring everyone in sight, Claire." His voice was a low whisper in her ear that made her shiver in the hot club. It was dark, little specks of light shone down on the floor, flashing excitedly. The music was loud, it thundered off the high walls, and bounced around the building. They were in a dark corner, at one of the few tables in the nightclub.

Laura was chatting with another one of their friends, and her other friends were all on the dance floor. It was where she wanted to be, free of her troubles and free of Sylar.

"Like I trust you," she said between clenched teeth. Instead of staying at the table to find out though, she pushed herself from the table and turned to shout at Laura that she was going to the dance floor. When she didn't follow, Claire got lost in the mass of bodies and let the music take her away.

She was in a trance, her feet moved to their own accord, and her body slinked with the beat. Her hips rocked back and forth as the tempo picked up, and Claire closed her eyes. She wanted to let go, she wanted to be free of all of these burdens. How could she make them disappear? How could she make all of her troubles go away?

A warm body came up behind her, and instead of turning around and pushing the person away, she continued to dance. The body moved with hers in a tantalizing rhythm. She spun, grinning at the stranger behind her. He was tall, dark and handsome. For a moment, his face reminded her of Sylar. But when she seen his soft blue eyes, she was set at ease. It wasn't him.

She danced with him for a few minutes, his hands were on her waist. A few minutes later, his hand had crawled to her bottom, which was snuggly wrapped in tight jeans that accented her curves. But when his hands started traveling all over her body, she began to worry. His touch was growing possessive and his breath was hot on her neck.

A moment later, he was yanked from her. The space in front of her was cold, and she searched in the darkness for him. She moved towards where he was standing, and spotted Sylar picking the man up in the air, this time with his hands. Before she could think, Claire lunged at Sylar. With one arm, Sylar was holding the man in the air, and he had his other arm coiled back, ready to slam into his face.

When Claire launched herself at him, she latched herself to his other arm and drug him down. "Stop it!" She shrieked, it was almost like a whisper in the booming club though. Sylar had heard her, he felt her body pressed against his. Instead of dropping the man, his hold on his neck tightened. "Get off, Claire. Or I'll be obliged to use something a bit more forceful."

She pulled him, yanking on the arm in her constricted grasp. "No! Just stop!" When he didn't move, she knew what she had to do. She had to make him angrier, had to make him focus on her instead of this poor man.

"Don't be jealous. I _let_ him. I _wanted_ him. Who the fuck are you to keep me away from what I want?"

A muscle in his jaw clenched, and his thick brows furrowed together. He tossed the guy away, and he slid across the floor through a crowd of people. Now people were beginning to watch, and Claire looked around her frightfully, trying to find a way to hide from his lash of anger. What was she thinking? She should have let that guy be pummeled by Sylar's fist, it was better then her being humiliated in front of a crowd of people.

She turned on her heel, and sprang through a crowd of people, getting lost within the flood of bodies. Sylar followed her slowly, trying to spot her through the people. She would stand out easily, she always did. She was the light in a dark room, her honey blonde hair shone through the dark mass, and he slid through the bodies to get to her. However, when he got there, she had already made it to an exit, and the door shut quickly behind her.

Growling lowly, he followed her out of the door. When he stepped outside, the alley was empty. She was gone.

Claire had made a right when she made it outside, and she flew out of the alley, making a left. She had to escape, but where would she go? Her feet carried her down the sidewalk, the heels at the end of her legs making it hard for her to get far. Pausing just for a second, she yanked them off of her. She dared a glance behind her, but the sidewalk was empty. Instead of risking it, Claire continued to run.

She had to get somewhere safe, but where could she go? She wouldn't go back to the apartment, not tonight. That would be the first place he would check for her. She had to let things cool down before she could risk going back there again, maybe he'd spare her from any punishment he thought she deserved.

Before she realized where she was, she found herself outside of Peter's apartment. She pounded on the door brutally, not thinking of the time or whether he was sleeping. When the door swung open, a heavy-eyed Peter opened the door. In light blue boxers.

Her mouth dropped open for a second, and before he could even speak her name, she brushed past him and shut the door behind her. Claire didn't think, she didn't give herself time to. She tackled him, wrapping her arms tightly around his slim waist.

He was awake now, and his eyes were wide with shock. What was she doing here? All dressed up, without shoes, and hugging him so tightly for. She looked scared. "Claire, what happened?" He asked her, wrapping his arms around her tiny frame, clutching her to him strongly.

"Are you hurt?" He asked, drawing her away from him. Claire shook her head, and allowed herself to let him go. "No, I just… I didn't know where else to go."

"What happened, was it Sylar? It was him…" Peter said, his tone getting louder as he got angry.

"I'll kill him, I swear I will!" He proclaimed, and his energy surprised Claire.

"No… Please, it's not that big of a deal. I… I just needed someplace to go. I needed a place to go until things died down. We got into a fight, he's furious. I just…"

She cracked, and her body shook as the tears erupted from her eyes. Immediately, the anger fled and concern overwhelmed him. He wrapped his arms around her again, pulling her against him. Her face buried into his chest as her hot tears soaked his shirt.


	13. Chapter 13

Author's Note: I'm sorry for the long hiatus. Things have been pretty hectic lately. I'm about to introduce a new character to the story, a minor arc before Samson makes his appearance. I'm doing this to give Claire more perspective, to give her character a deeper meaning. And to, eventually, bring her and Sylar even closer together. Sorry for the wait. Enjoy =]

She looked ridiculously cute when she was sleeping, Peter realized as he watched her. When she cried into his shirt, she told him what had happened. And why she didn't have any shoes on. It made his blood boil, but she assured him that everything would be okay if she just slept. She convinced him that Sylar would get over it by morning.

Was she trying to protect Sylar? Or was she trying to protect him from Sylar?

She had dozed off when he led her to the couch to cry on him. He woke her up, only to hand her a t shirt and a pair of baggy sweat pants. When she was finished changing, she climbed into his bed and fell asleep peacefully. He couldn't sleep, so he stayed out in the living room. Every once in a while, he'd peek in on her though, just to see if she was still there.

When she showed up at his doorstep at 3 in the morning, he thought the worst had happened. He felt panicked, and then she shocked him with her hug. Did she really feel the safest here? With him? It made his heart swell to think that when danger struck, the first person she'd come to was him. But how could he protect her from Samson? Or worse, how could he protect her from Sylar? He couldn't hold all of the abilities anymore, Sylar had much more in his arsenal then Peter did.

Her hair was spread out above her head over the pillow, like a golden wave. She was lying on her back, her head turned to the side. He hadn't seen her face so.. .serene before. She looked like a delicate angel, and he only wanted her to be safe. Peter went back out to the couch, spreading out, and trying to find a comfortable spot.

A few hours later, the sun was peeking over the horizon, and soft rays of light lit up the room. As the light danced over her eyes, Claire woke up. It took her a few minutes to recall where she was, and whose bed she was in. When she did remember, she bolted upright and looked around wildly. Where was Peter? Was he okay? She hoped Sylar didn't follow her here….

She stumbled to her feet, and peeked around the Chinese screen, spotting Peter on the couch. Tiptoeing over to him quietly, she peered down at him. He was sleeping so peacefully, and she knew he didn't get much of it these days. When she started to tiptoe back to the room, she heard him stir on the couch. She froze, like she was caught in an act, and he looked up at her, smiling sleepily.

His smile broke into a soft laugh as he gazed up at her. He sat up, and Claire tilted her head to the side. What was he laughing about? Staring down at herself, she couldn't help but to grin herself. It looked like his shirt swallowed her; it hung around her knees loosely. The sweat pants were baggy, and they threatened to fall right off of her bottom. She couldn't see it, but she had a feeling her makeup was smeared, and that her hair was fluffy and poofed out.

Her dark eyeliner was smeared just slightly, and her hair had the look of sex hair. If he were anybody else… he'd say she was sexy. Wearing his shirt, that was entirely way too big, and the smeared make up. She was a beautiful person, even when she woke up.

"I'm… sorry about last night Peter. I really shouldn't have woken you up." She hesitated before crossing the room to sit next to him on the couch. "I think it'll be okay if I go home now." Claire smiled slowly, and he sat quietly. He didn't want her to go back to that place; he didn't want her to go back to that monster. He felt helpless.

She was being cornered by a madman, and Sylar was the only one mad enough to take down the psycho.

And then the next few things happened so fast, it was like a blur.

His front door was thrown open, and Peter sprung to his feet. He yanked Claire behind him protectively, and stood in front of her as a man stepped through the door. His hair was blonde, and his eyes were a challenging blue. He was tall, his shoulders were broad and his cheek bones were prominent. If Peter would have guessed his age, he would have said he was a few years older than Claire.

The man ignored Claire completely, turning his hateful gaze on Peter. "Peter Petrelli."

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" Peter asked hastily, ready to spring into action if this man attacked. He looked familiar, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Something told him that this man was special, like him and Claire.

"My name is Andrew, and I'm here to avenge my father." He pulled a gun from his long, dark coat. Peter was fast to react, and he sped across the room. Andrew blinked, looking from left to right for Peter. He was on the other side of the room, how was that possible? He narrowed his haunted blue eyes, and aimed the gun for him again. When Peter moved again, he was standing beside Claire.

"Get out of here before I throw you out," Peter said lowly, threatening him. Claire looked back and forth between the man and Peter. Who was he? And who was his father? Andrew held the gun steady, pointing it at Peter's chest.

"That's all you can do. You can only threaten me. You can't kill me…" Andrew's voice was soft, he sounded so sure of himself. Then before Peter could react, he fired the gun. Claire sprung into action, and threw herself in front of him. Andrew's eyes widened, as if she had come out of nowhere.

"Claire!" Peter shouted, the shot rang through the air and it pierced her chest, burrowing through it until it caught on a bone and stopped. She began to fall back from the impact, and Peter reached out to grab her. He held her tightly to him; she was bleeding through his shirt. When she coughed, and pushed herself out of his arms, his heart clenched. He still couldn't forget that she wasn't like everyone else. She could recover from that.

When she pulled the bullet out of her chest, and it dropped to the floor with a soft clang, Andrew stared at her widely. "You…" He started, then his eyes dropped to her chest, where her skin was pulling itself together, healing. He took a step back, into the hallway of the apartment building, and out of Peter's home.

Without another word, he turn and ran. Claire turned, looking back at Peter. Her eyes sparked with confusion, and Peter shrugged. "I don't know who he was. Or why he thinks he should avenge his father through me." Claire reached for Peter, but satisfied herself by touching his arm gently. "We can chase him, we can find out."

Peter shook his head, sighing softly. "No, I'm not ready for a showdown yet. Thank you, Claire. You might have just saved my life." Smiling happily, she shrugged lightly, as if it were no big deal. "I guess I'm one closer to the countless number of times you've saved mine." She looked down at his shirt, frowning. "And now your shirts ruined…"

Peter laughed quietly, shaking his head at her random thought. "As if there aren't other things to be worrying about."


	14. Chapter 14

Author's Note: This chapter is all Sylar. Just wanted to show things from his point of view. =]

Sylar sat alone in the dark apartment, lounging back lazily on the couch. The only hint of light in the room came from the moonlight that shimmered through the opened window. The air conditioner was off; he was content with the gentle summer breeze that danced through the window. He was watching the door intently, waiting for Claire to sneak into the house. He doubted she would, but she managed to surprise him before.

He knew exactly where she was, she fled to the only place she felt safe. She was with Peter. A stab of resentment pinched somewhere inside of him, and he gripped the arm of the couch. He was thinking about going over there to crash their party, how could Peter stop him? He remembered that he could only take one power; Sylar had a whole selection at his fingertips.

He moved, sitting up. His feet almost carried him to the door, but he paused just before it. His fist clenched together into a tight ball, and he turned, going back to the black sofa. He admired her taste in furniture at least, although he questioned if it was because he was here that she went with a color so dark. She seemed more like a yellow daisies and pink butterflies kind of girl. He was surprised when he seen the living room set the next day.

After that night with the hot sauce, they avoided each other like the plague. She avoided him because she thought she hated him, because she thought he was a monster. He avoided her because she infuriated him. She was like an on/off switch. She could control exactly how he was feeling, and she didn't even try.

One second she satiated his hunger, when she was around he wasn't always fighting for control. He wasn't always thinking about who to go after for the next addition to his collection of powers. And the next second, she made him hunger for her. It was always a different type of hunger when it involved her. He wanted her to feel. Anything. Mostly pain, but sometimes pleasure.

He hungered for her, in general. He wanted to touch her; he wanted to feel her, to control her. He had a desire to make her feel bad. He wanted to kick her ass off that high horse, to show her that everyone did wrong. Not any one person was perfect, and she surely wasn't. And neither was her precious hero, Peter.

Maybe he shouldn't have been so cruel that night when they came home from the stores. Maybe he was too harsh on her. She was invincible; she could take all of his anger, all of the fury that he kept inside of him. Physically she could take it. But he knew that emotionally, her heart was still uneasy. Her heart was still as fragile as glass, and it wouldn't heal as fast as her body would.

The reason he had been so violent the other night was because he was conflicting with himself. The insatiable monster inside of him that fought to claw its way out when she was around had won. She sent him over the edge when the hot sauce exploded in his eyes, and though a part of him was furious with her, he was also proud of her.

He could bet on it that she didn't even think about what the hot sauce would do to him if it broke open on his face. It had been her natural instinct for survival, and out of all the things around her, she chose the one thing he couldn't heal from immediately. Sure, the broken shards of glass that shattered when it hit him across the head could heal. But the hot sauce that leaked into his eyes was agonizing. He could heal from wounds, but he couldn't not feel the pain.

She made him a hypocrite. He wanted to prove he wasn't growing soft; he didn't want anyone to think he had gotten weak. And yet at that same time, he could silence that voice in his head that whispered to him to protect her. Was that because he had spent 2 years of his life as Nathan? Or was it something deeper…? There was a gentle ache in his heart that felt a pang of guilt whenever he seen her hurt, especially if she was hurt because of him.

His pride wouldn't let him show it though. He wouldn't ever show it.

She drove him insane with all of the things she did. Like the tight clothes she wore that screamed for attention, and yet her eyes told another story. The way her hair smelled when she got of the shower. The way she tried to avoid him, but somehow he could always see her eyes drifting away when he turned to look back at her. Like she didn't want to get caught in the act of looking at him.

The guy who put his grimy hands all over her at the club that night really set him off. Why would she let some stranger hold her like that? So when she didn't do anything about it, he did. He wouldn't let any man touch Claire that way; no one would take her from him. He knew she didn't want that stranger to touch her, she'd only said that to piss him off. Usually he could keep his composure, but she enraged him all the time.

He pulled his hands up behind his head, laying his long legs out over the couch. He didn't bother to take his shoes off, maybe she'd say something to him about it. He liked it when she was defiant, but only a touch of defiance. He enjoyed watching the fire in her eyes burst to life, and he liked diminishing it sometimes too.

As much as she confused him, he would have to figure out how to deal with all of the troubling feelings.

They would be spending much more time together, and he didn't want her to eventually figure out the power she had over him. He knew she despised him now, but he also knew that she would eventually come to love him; she would have to.

They were stuck together for eternity; time had no control over them. Sylar had sealed his fate when he took her power, and it was a path of destiny he didn't mind walking. Just as long as he knew he wasn't alone, just as long as she made life a bit more exciting. She'd find no else like him, no one else like herself.

Unless there were other people who could grow detached body parts and live forever, then she'd always come back to him. She'd get bored after living alone for centuries. She'd get tired of being hurt after watching all of her loved ones drop like flies. She wouldn't always be able to resist his advances. She wasn't perfect, she would let the temptation overtake her at some point. If he had to, he'd wait. He was a clockmaker's son; patience was something that was written into the very essence of his soul.

It had been nearly 2 hours since she escaped from the nightclub. A tinge of anger came over him for a moment, until he regained control, growing calmer. She wouldn't be coming home tonight, he wondered if she would even be home by tomorrow night. Letting his eyes slide shut, he allowed sleep to claim him.

The crack of light that shone through the windows woke him up. His eyes blinked open, and he looked around for any signs of her arrival. The birds sang delightfully outside, and it only put him in a sourer mood. Flicking his wrist, the window slammed down abruptly, and silence filled the apartment. She didn't come home at all, and it was already noon. Standing up, he ran his fingers through his thick, dark locks of hair and headed towards the bathroom. He was a patient man, but he wouldn't sit around doing nothing while he waited. And he didn't doubt she'd be back eventually, she would always come back.


	15. Chapter 15

"I really wish you'd just go back home, or stay over my place until this all settles over," Peter whispered, his eyes showing intense concern for Claire.

"This is my home, Peter," she explained, the fight in her eyes showing effusively. "I can't just run to you or run back to my father when things get too hard here."

"How're you supposed to be safe with Sylar?" They were talking in hushed whisper, standing outside of Claire's door. "He'll be the death of you, Claire. Something just… it doesn't feel right."

"That's because you've got a blonde warrior named Andrew chasing after you. Instead of worrying about me, maybe you should focus on some of your problems." Claire smirked, crossing her arms over her chest. Peter took a step back, sighing as he drug his hand through his hair. "Yeah, I'm going to head over to my mom's now. This is all probably her fault anyways."

Reaching forward, she placed a gentle hand on his upper arm. "Just…be careful."

A crooked smile lifted one side of his lips, and he took a step back. "You too." A rush of wind came from no where, sweeping blonde locks up, tousling them about. He was gone. Claire ran her hands over her hair to flatten it, and stepped into her apartment. The room was empty as far as she could see, Sylar wasn't at the door, ready to spring into action.

Staring around hesitantly, Claire closed the door behind her soundlessly. She took a few soft steps into the living room, peering around the wall into the hallway that led to their bedrooms. Her feet were filthy, she had long lost her heels. But at least the clicking of her heels wouldn't alert him of her presence.

"Really Claire? You're sneaking into your own house?" He looked down at the invisible watch on his wrist. "Wait, isn't it way past your curfew?" Lifting a hand to cover his mouth, acting like he was a shocked, concerned friend. "Oh, let's hope daddy doesn't find out you were out all night."

Claire's mouth tightened, and she turned to stare at him. He had managed to find a spot where he blended in inside of the kitchen. He'd seen her the whole time. Why was he so good at this? All of those self defense classes did nothing against him, how do you fight telekinesis and electricity? They said fight fire with fire, but what were you supposed to do when you _couldn't_?

Fight with water?

Shaking her head, she gazed up at Sylar, sticking her chin out, staring at him boldly. She'd just have to fight with her own fire, although lately it seemed to get her nowhere but in trouble.

"There aren't any hot sauce bottles around, or any picture frames for you to push me away this time. What're you going to do?" He took a step towards her, calculating and slowly.

As if on cue, she took a step back. The look in his eyes were powerful, as if he were trying to paralyze her in place. She wasn't a wide eyed doe though, she wouldn't be entranced. He took another step towards her, and she moved back in tune.

"What? Can't fight without a weapon?"

"Can you fight without yours?" She snapped back, her eyes narrowing. "I doubt you even know how to throw a punch. You rely on your finger a little too much, don't you?"

His lips drew up in a smirk, and his thick brows lifted with surprise. "You sure you want to find out?"

"Come on, bring it. I like it rough," she retorted, tossing her locks of gold hair over her shoulder and spreading her feet until they were shoulder width apart. She was edging him on, and he took the bait. He chuckled darkly at her last comment, tilting his head to the side to consider the situation.

"I imagine you do, Claire. But only because you haven't found something that's enough to make you tick, something that's just _too_ rough for the pretty princess, right?"

With this, she glided across the floor gracefully. His dark eyes narrowed, and he met her somewhere in the middle. They weren't fast like Peter, but their fists flashed past each other's faces, always almost connecting. He had a bit of advantage, he was bigger and stronger. Finally, his fist connected with her cheek, snapping her head to the side.

Bringing it back to glare heatedly at him, she slid forward, ducking another fist that was threatening to slam into her face. She was smaller, faster. Her fist connected with his lower abdomen, and he brought a strong hand forward to backhand her. Her eyes exploded, and her cheek flared. She remained balanced, and didn't stumble. Instead, she came at him again, ready for more.

She surprised him with her balance and her strategy. She really was trying. And these weren't moves that just came off of instincts. He raked through his memories, through memories of when he was Nathan. Suddenly, it came to him. _He_ paid for the self defense classes. _He_ paid for the shooting range. Was that Nathan's decision? Would Nathan have really done that? Or was that Sylar subconsciously preparing her for the future? For their future?

A satisfied smirk came to his lips, and it was immediately wiped off as Claire's angry fist pounded into his jaw. He stumbled back, shock registering on his face. The look on his face caught her off guard. Was he really surprised? Smugly, she came at him again without assessing the best approach. All of those cheerleading practices and self defense classes had finally paid off, she thought.

Sylar was quick to act though, he noticed her spontaneous reaction. He took his opportunity, and ducked to the floor. His leg slid out, and he swiped it across the floor until it came crashing into her bare feet. Her hands flew into the air as she was knocked off her feet onto her ass.

Claire's chest was heaving, she was panting quietly. A thin sheet of sweat made her golden skin glisten under the soft light in the living room. Sylar stood up on both feet, then grinned down at her. Claire groaned silently, rolling her eyes. She moved to get up, but Sylar was bringing her to her feet with his invisible hold.

She expected another brutal punishment, instead he came towards her. He was invading her space, and he brought his face close to hers. She closed her eyes, swallowing hard. Was he about to kiss her? Instead, she got a soft tickle against her ear as he murmured faintly, "Better luck next time."

He walked around her, taking long strides until he got to his room. He slipped into his room and shut the door behind him. Grinning, he walked over to the mattress and sat along the edge. He knew she was out there wondering what the hell was going on. He leaned back, putting his hands under his head. And unless she found a good distraction, she'd be thinking about him for the rest of the day and into the night.

She blinked, looking around suspiciously. Claire lifted a hand to touch her face, wondering what the hell had just happened. She was under his control, and then he just let her go? After everything that had happened last night? He had a chance to make her feel miserable, and instead, he just left her there. Confusion plagued her mind, along with thoughts of him. Was this part of diabolical plan? Was this some sort of joke?

Clamping her mouth shut, her jaw tightened as she turned to glower at his closed door. He had to be coming back out, there was no way he would just… walk away from her. Would he really walk away without mocking her? Without making her feel even worse?

Her heart hammered against her rib cage, and her body shook angrily. She didn't know if she was more pissed that she'd lost, or that he just walked away without giving her a reason to hate him more. If she thought throwing a couple of punches with him was a way to vent, she was horribly mistaken. Now she was even more bewildered then she'd been when she walked through the door.


	16. Chapter 16

Claire glared angrily at her crème colored wall. She had been moping around the house all day, and Sylar was sitting contently in his empty room. It had only been a few hours since their last encounter. She was irritated to the point that she was ready to go in there and pick a fight with him, just for the hell of it. She knew she'd get her ass handed to her, but _that's_ how aggravated she was.

Why couldn't he just stick with a habit? Well, maybe this was his habit. Irritating her. Finding exactly what gets under her skin, and pricking at it. And then when she gets used to it, he finds the next spot. It's a never ending process, and he had eternity to perfect it.

Leaning her head back against the comfort of her couch, she sighed softly. There really was no reason to stick around the apartment, even if she wasn't trying to avoid Sylar. There was no TV, no internet, no stereos. There was nothing to do at all. She grabbed her things and threw on some shoes, a few minutes later she was heading out the door. By the time she got to the bottom floor, Sylar was already there, meeting her.

"Where are you going?" He asked quietly, his hands in his pockets.

She was surprised he had beat her down here. Did he fly down the emergency stairs or something?

Instead of snapping at him to go away, she walked past him. "I'm going back to my place to get some things. I can't sit around that apartment with nothing to do, aside from being agitated by you." Her soft green eyes traveled up to meet his dark ones, a careful smirk on her lips.

He didn't say anything else, he was just a shadow behind her as they walked silently together to her family home.

When they got there, Noah was out. He was at work, and Claire was surprised at how perfectly she had timed it. She wasn't too sure how her father would react if Sylar was with her when she came over to get a few of her things. She didn't want anymore drama to deal with. When they got to the door, Claire turned to look at Sylar. "Would it be too much to ask if I asked if you would stay out here and wait?"

Sylar's brows drew together as he stared at her. "I'm going in anyways, Claire."

"Of course you are," she sighed, putting her key into the knob and turning it until it clicked.

They stepped in and Claire led him straight up to her room. Her mother wasn't anywhere in sight, so she slipped into her room quietly to gather a few things. Sylar stood in the room, like a dark, looming shadow on the wall. After a few boring moments of watching her, he walked around to look at the pictures on the wall and the knick knacks on her dresser. "Hm, what happened to the cheerleadering uniform?" He held the last picture of her taken when she was a cheerleader.

"The same thing that happened to the cheerleader. It's gone."

His dark gaze flicked over to her, studying her carefully. The familiar tingle he got when someone told a lie slithered up his spine. She was lying. But about which part? Was the cheerleader really gone? Or was it just the uniform? His gaze traveled down her frame, admiring her toned body that the being a cheerleader had done for her. The cheerleader wasn't gone, she was the one who fought with him everyday. So maybe the uniform wasn't gone either. Instead of calling her out on it, he mumbled softly, "That's a shame. I'd like to see you in that again."

Claire's cheeks flushed slightly, and she turned away from him so he could only see her back. She put a few more things into a duffel bag, making sure to grab her stereo. "I guess we'll have to come back for the TV another time." Sylar's head snapped up, away from the photo of her in her uniform. "No, I'll grab it." He was eager to get something else to do in the house. Anything was better than nothing.

"Are you going to carry it the whole way back to the apartment?"

He hesitated, placing the picture back on her dresser. "Well, I was-"

"I'll just buy a new one. This one is just a generation above the ones with the bunny ears."

Sylar grinned, walking towards her. "I'll even let you pick this one out." Her green eyes met his, and she frowned. "Why, thank you. I know how hard that must be for you, giving someone else the reins." A playful grin masked his lips, and he shrugged lightly. "I'm feeling generous today." Claire's face turned into a shocked one. "Sylar's feeling generous? What is the world coming to?"

Chuckling darkly, he picked up one of her bags, tossing it over his shoulder. "Are we done here?"

Claire grabbed a few of her bags, nodded, and walked out of her room. She stopped in front of a closed door and put her things down. She stepped in quickly, and shut the door behind her. Sylar tilted his head, wondering what was behind the door. Instead of flinging the door open, he was a bit cautious cause he didn't know if it was a bathroom, he waited. A few minutes later, Claire stepped out. She left the door open long enough for him to see a bed and a pale, sickly looking boy.

His brows drew up, he tried to look over her shoulder curiously. The door slammed shut, and she glared up at him. Like all of this was his fault. Like the words he spoke that day brought this fate upon her brother. "This would have happened whether I said those words or not, Claire. I didn't jinx him, there's no such thing." She shook her head in disbelief, and turned away from him to pick her things up. "Don't, Sylar. Just don't." It wasn't a topic she wanted to discuss. "Don't be so childish. Lyle would have gotten cancer whether that day happened or not."

She turned abruptly, her hair falling over her face. Her eyes revealed her anger, it showed pools of sadness, of the misery she had been through in the past 2 years. "You don't get to talk about him, do you understand me? You cursed me that day, trying to make me believe all of your lies. You poisoned my mind, saying that I would have to watch all of my loved ones die. I didn't think it would happen at all, yet alone so soon. And so slowly. Can you imagine the pain he is in?" She hissed, her voice a hushed whisper so she wouldn't disturb anyone. "So, _don't_. Drop it." He noticed she didn't speak of the pain _she_ was in.

Instead of arguing with her, he kept his mouth closed. Her face was painfully close to his, all of her emotions reflected from her eyes. She was furious with him, but not because he had cursed her. He didn't have that power. It was because he spoke the truth. She wasn't ready to face the truth then, and she wasn't ready to face the truth now. Instead, she'd just keep running from it, pinning the blame on the easiest target. It was easy for her to blame him, she hated him. She didn't understand him, or understand how the hunger controlled him. She wouldn't understand that the monster was silenced around her, so he wouldn't tell her.

They left the house without running into her mother, Sandra. Claire was grateful for that, she didn't want to deal with her mother's fretting. Was she eating enough? Was he making her miserable? Was he hurting her? Was she wearing clean clothes? Did they want something to drink?

When they got back to the apartment, the man at the front door, Jim, helped them carry her things to her apartment. When he left them alone, Claire set her clothes in her room. She put the stereo in the living room on one of the end table she had gotten. They weren't speaking to each other, and Claire enjoyed the silence. Just earlier today they were throwing punches at each other, and now they weren't on speaking terms. After setting up the stereo and tuning into a radio station, Claire went into her room to hang her clothes up.

Sylar went into the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets for something to eat. After several minutes of slamming the cabinets door shut, he leaned back against the counter. There was nothing in there that he wanted. He wasn't looking for food, he was hungry for something else. He stared down at his hand, blue veins of electricity popping in between his fingers, crackling as he turned his hand over to watch it travel around his hand like a webbed glove. Maybe it was time to go get a new power. Claire's nagging voice pierced his thoughts, and he growled angrily. He could already hear her bitching about it.

He turned back around, grabbing some frozen chicken out of the freezer, setting it into a bowl to defrost in the microwave. Frowning, he tried to tune out her quiet singing as he grabbed some uncooked pasta. Her voice was soft, melodic like an angel's. He poured the pasta into a pot to boil, annoyed with himself and with her. He'd just have be satisfied with chicken alfredo.


End file.
